


Swelter

by BaredWolf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Humor, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BaredWolf/pseuds/BaredWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the hottest day of the year, the power is out, and all anybody wants is to figure out a way to cool off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swelter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kototyph](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph/gifts).



> Written as part of the SPN Spring Fling for [Kototyph](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kototyph). I hope you enjoy this!

An August afternoon, in a town in Missouri that had lost power in a storm two nights previous, found the Winchester brothers experiencing a sweltering heat wave with no relief in sight. 

"This is un-fucking-real," Sam complained, stripping off his sweat-soaked tee shirt. He flung it towards the air conditioning unit mounted into the motel room's wall. The A/C unit remained silent, immovable as the shirt slid slowly down its vents. 

"Are we out of ice?" Dean asked, nudging the cooler with his foot from where he was sprawled in one of the chairs. His own shirt was barely drier than Sam's, but he was resisting removing it. At the moment, he couldn't remember why. Modesty, or something.

"Dunno," Sam replied. "Don't open it to find out," he warned. Because if Dean opened it, it'd either already be melted and they'd _know_  they were doomed to warm beer, or it wouldn't have melted yet but would promptly do so with the introduction of air that felt like about 120 degrees. "Schrodinger's fucking ice," he muttered to himself. 

"What?" Dean asked. "Mumbling, Sammy," he mumbled.

"Do you think opening the window would help?" Sam asked, flopping spreadeagled onto one of the beds. 

"Dude, you're getting the sheets all sweaty," Dean complained. 

"Dude, they're already all sweaty," Sam retorted, annoyance bubbling in his chest. The heat had moved beyond insufferable: he was stewing in his own juices, and he was pretty sure he was going to be completely cooked soon. "We really gotta get out of here."  


"Can't, Sammy, haven't finished the job." Dean wiped a hand across his forehead, then frowned as he rubbed the resulting moisture on his boxer shorts. He'd taken his jeans off a few hours ago, but it really hadn't helped. "Hey, you think we could convince the ghost to show up here and just, like, hang out? Making cold spots and shit?"

"Vengeful spirit A/C. Dean, that's a terrible idea." Which actually sounded rather appealing, if Sam was honest.

"No, it's a very cool idea." Dean pointed a lazy finger at his brother.

"I hate you." It was far too hot for bad puns.

"Nah, you love me," Dean replied, smugly self-amused.

"Dean, if we go try to dig up that grave tonight, we're going to go on record as the first idiots who managed to die of heatstroke at two am." The sun was already going down, but there was no relief in darkness. Sam sighed, the comforter already burning hot against his skin. "Look, I'm gonna take a shower." 

"That sounds terrible."

"A cold shower, dumbass."

"Oh," Dean groaned, "good idea," while making no move to rouse himself from his chair. "I should…do that too." Dean closed his eyes. "I wonder if there are any spells that make it cold."

"You are just full of terrible ideas today," Sam grunted, getting to his feet. His skin was slick against itself, and he could feel ribbons of moisture chasing each other down his back. He felt absolutely disgusting. 

The air in the room shifted, blowing hot against Sam's skin. He turned, finding Castiel standing a few feet behind him. 

"Hey," Sam said, wondering if Castiel could do anything about this heat. 

"No," Castiel said, replying to Sam's unvoiced question. 

"Little abrupt, there, Cas," Dean grumbled, eyes still closed. "Aw, fuck," he muttered, opening his eyes and finally stripping out of his shirt. He rubbed it ineffectually against his hair as he said, "Cas, man, can you do something about the fact that we are currently residing in a sauna?" 

"No," Castiel said, his tone irritated because he had to repeat himself. "Why are you making me repeat myself?" Dean looked at Sam, rolled his eyes and sighed. "And why are you not making use of the air conditioning?"

"'s's broken," Dean muttered. "Power's out." He looked brightly at Castiel, eyes full of an idea. "Hey, can you turn the power back on?"

"Probably not. Also, that is not why I am here."

"Yeah, I still need that shower," Sam said, unbuttoning his jeans as he moved towards the bathroom. He heard Dean's rough burst of laughter as Castiel asked why his vessel was suddenly so damp, followed by the unmistakable thwack of a wet shirt to the face. 

"That did not help," Castiel complained. 

"Yeah, take off your coat, man," Dean said, the conversation finally drowned out by the creak of the pipes as the shower started. Sam shoved at his jeans, finally forced to peel the damp denim off of his legs, nearly falling into the tub in the process. He cursed as he struck his elbow on the tiled wall. 

"You okay in there Sammy?" Dean asked, poking his head around the corner so that he could see into the bathroom. 

"Dude, get out," Sam complained. 

"Dude, shut the door," Dean replied. He raised his eyebrows and Sam sighed. "Bitchface bingo, Cas!" he cawed triumphantly. 

"You got number seventy two?" Castiel asked from the room, his voice growing louder as he approached. Sam sighed. He felt like he should be surprised or insulted or _something_  that his brother and his best friend were apparently making a game of irritating him, but it was just so damn _hot_  in here.

"I'm gonna take my underwear off now," Sam warned, running a finger under the sweaty waistband of his boxers. 

"Okay," Dean leered, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. Castiel moved to where he could see, quiet and curious, the way he always got when things took the turn Dean's tone was suggesting. 

"It is way too fucking hot," Sam replied, turning and sticking his hand under the water. It wasn't even cold: tepid would be a generous description. He sighed, and the pipes groaned in protest as he turned the water off. 

"What happened to the shower?" Dean asked, throwing his hands wide. He looked affronted, until Sam glared at him, and then he was grinning again. Castiel was frowning next to him, seemingly focused on the air a few inches from his face. His expression relaxed into one of awed surprise as he waved his hand through the air as if feeling it, before blinking. A gust of wind filled the room. 

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed. "Cas, what the hell?" 

"I think," Castiel said, frowning at the air again, "I think I actually _can_  cool the air." He squinted a little harder, and then the air moved again. 

"You're doing that with your wings," Sam said, feeling his stomach drop in a dizzying twist of arousal. "Moving the air," he explained, eloquently flapping his hand in front of him. He shivered as Castiel made the air move again. 

"Fuck me, that feels awesome," Dean said, leaning against the wall. Goosebumps broke out across his skin as drying sweat finally helped to cool him down. 

"I seem to be able to alter the - " Castiel started to explain. 

"No, don't explain it, you're ruining it," Dean complained. "Just, y'know, do it some more." Sam turned to pick up his jeans, the chill insufficient to quell the fact that Castiel's power was an enormous turn on, but Dean spoke up again. "Nuh uh, Sammy, don't go getting re-dressed now," Dean drawled, his voice sex-lazed already. "It's not so hot any more." 

"Yeah I'm gonna have to disagree with you on that one, Dean." But the thin material of Dean's boxers was doing little to hide the fact that he was in the same condition as Sam.

"That is not why I am here," Castiel said, the crinkle between his eyes smoothing as he stopped generating cold air. 

"Angel A/C or sex?" Dean asked. Sam rolled his eyes. "Uh, I mean, yeah, world ending or angels being bags and bags of dicks or probably both at once, right?" Dean asked, trying to inject a little understanding into his tone.

"Well. More or less. It's - "

"Cas." Sam interrupted him, because Dean had convinced Castiel to take off his pants too, and none of them would be thinking with the right head if they tried to have this conversation now. 

"Sam."

"Can it wait thirty minutes?" Sam asked.

"Can it wait like two hours?" Dean muttered. Then, "What?" when Sam and Castiel both fixed him with looks. Then Castiel's lips curved a little, almost a smile, and he nodded. 

"The world will still be a bag of dicks when we're finished," Castiel acquiesced.

"That's really not how that saying goes," Dean answered, stepping behind Castiel and wrapping his arms around him. 

"Move your wings again," Sam said, dropping his pants back on the ground and stepping towards Castiel. His hair blew wildly in the gust Castiel generated, his movements aggressive as he pulled Castiel in for a kiss. 

"This is not why I am here," Castiel said again, but his hands were twisted in Sam's hair, and his body relaxed against Dean's. 

"Am I squishing your wings? Can you still move them?" Dean asked, the words breathed against Castiel's ears as his fingers worked to unbutton Castiel's shirt. Sam barely suppressed a whimper at the thought as another gust of air swirled around the threesome. "'Cause I don't know if you've noticed, Cas, but Sam here kinda likes your wings. A lot." 

"It's…" Castiel stopped trying to explain as Dean kissed the spot behind his ear in the way that he loved, his words evaporating in a soft gasp. "No, they're fine," he breathed into Sam's mouth, as the three of them abandoned words in favor of the mute communion of bodies. 

Halfway through, they had to take a break so Castiel could spend a few minutes battling the heat again, and by the time they were finished the room was warm again. 

"Talk about a loosing battle," Dean complained. 

"We need to," Castiel insisted, his manner terribly businesslike for someone who was currently stark naked. "Talk about a losing battle, that is."

"Yeah, Cas," Sam answered, shoving at Dean's shoulder until he sat up to listen too, "let's talk."


End file.
